She smiles thankful and continues to walk. She turns around and I take the piece of seaweed from her hair. “Evans, Lily!” The redhead beside me looks mortified as she begins to walk. He gets sorted into Ravenclaw before the hat could even fully make contact with his head. “Dearborn, Caradoc.” Professor McGonnagal says again. I guess that answers the sacred 28 question. The Slytherins sit silent and most have shocked expressions. The Gryffindor table immediately begins to clap and welcome their new housemate. I notice a slight twist in the Professor’s expression as she takes the hat off his head. Moments pass but then the hat calls out, “ GRYFFINDOR !” The hat falls just below his eyes leaving the rest of his face visible. He sits down and the Professor places the hat as promised on his head. He walks up the steps not stumbling or hesitating. He walks with a rather elegance telling me that chances are he’s part of the sacred 28, James Potter told me about. The hall once again hushed down so not a single voice can be heard.Ī boy with shoulder-length black hair I haven’t previously seen pushes to the front. “After you find out your house please make your way to the designated table.” The students in green clap their heads held high eyeing each and every one of us. I see a small grimace as she says, “Slytherin.” Their claps are collected and respectful. “Ravenclaw,” the table directly to my left begin to clap. The table directly to my right begins to clap but no shouts were heard. She waits till the applause dies down then continues speaking, “Hufflepuff,” The Gryffindor red and gold banners above the table sway and seem to almost brighten. There is Gryffin-”īefore she gets the chance to finish the Gryffindor table erupts in applause and shouts. I will place this hat on your head and you’ll get sorted into your Hogwarts house. Once your name is called come up here and sit down on the chair. I will read out a list of names in alphabetical order. My name is Professor McGonnagal and I teach the transfiguration classes here at Hogwarts. “First years welcome, returning students welcome back. What kind of crap is that? I don’t have time to ponder on the thought as the woman who put the hat down begins to speak with a heavy Scottish accent. We hang on tight and hope that the darkness in us will recede. In times of peril and despair, we have each other to hold dear. The hat begins to speak producing gasps from a few of us. The older students look unamused, bored even. I stand just as shocked as everyone else. The creases in it bend forming into a mouth and eyes. A few of us first years jump as the hat comes to life.

The hat looks old and has dents and patches all over it.Įveryone goes silent obviously awaiting something. We part back into the clump after she passes and she stands now on a platform slightly above us. Her grey hair is laced with traces of brown all wrapped in a tight bun. I’m astounded by the magic of it all, and make a mental note of reading up on it.Ī woman in emerald green robes walks past us holding a hat in one hand and a scroll in the other. Candles levitate on invisible strings all around the hall. The ceiling above us reflects the clear sky outside. Peter Pettigrew, who has mousy blonde hair was with James Potter on the train. His brown hair sticks up from all sides, seemingly untamed. He turns around and I see a large smile plastered on his face. James Potter a boy I met on the Hogwarts express stands in the front of the clump. A blonde girl stands her head held high confidence practically radiating. A boy with grimey black hair is holding her hand on the other side of me. She must have been in the boat that tipped over. Her hair looks damp and a piece of seaweed hangs from the end of her hair. The silver scar that covers the length of my face beginning at just above my eyebrow and going down along my nose and ending at my cheek feels barer than ever.Ī redhead girl beside me stands, her lower lip quivering. The students that sit at the tables around us are all muttering and looking us up and down.

I don’t want to be anything like my father and the condescending house seems like a good start. Everyone is muttering and I stand silent, my arms crossed in boredom. We all stand together clumped in a small mob. My father was a Gryffindor, my mother a mudblood, and me, Remus Lupin, a werewolf.

Darkest side of the moon jummp